Distant Melody
Our time on this sphere is not in metered rhyme
but mostly, wildly tumbling prose...
Some of it, ethereal music, just below the range of our hearing
Time is not always presented with understanding,
but forever it is laced with wonder...
Sometimes we travel barren fields,
and, other times, blossoming meadows
Valleys and mountains need to be traversed,
the means lying with the traveler...
We shall all arrive at our destination in our own time
Some sooner, some later, but all arriving one final day,
whether with the fanfare of trumpets or a just a gentle sigh
and, in traveling on, we realize the faint ethereal music
has become the welcoming sound of beloved familiar voices...
©Faye Sizemore 5/25/03
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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